


Protection

by NightingaleLost



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Fantrolls, Gen, Original Characters - Freeform, daymares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightingaleLost/pseuds/NightingaleLost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Archit is once again tormented by a daymare, but help arrives unexpectedly from a somewhat familiar source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protection

The deck gleamed white in spite of the thousands of drops of blood that had dripped across its surface, dripping down between the railings into the dark sea below. Fearful ministrations of holystone and seawater kept it clean and impeccable, and you could walk the entire deck with nary a splinter lodging anywhere in the flesh of your feet. Hundreds of trolls had walked it; all could agree it was a well kept deck, and a well kept ship, and when you were bleeding out your lifeblood on the boards, there were worse decks to have as your last sight.

 

Spatterings of blood appeared on the pale boards, wet and shiny and slippery as the swollen boards refused to suck in the color. The sound of metal rang out sharply, and eyes white as bone watched from the shadows of the ship as two trolls fought over the roiling deck.

 

Their terrible captain struck out again and the sword in his hands leapt forward like lightning, spilling more blood upon the floor beneath their feet. He was not bigger than the half of them but power reeked from his body, and madness was written in his eyes. They all cringed as the fighting took the two closer to where they all hid. Silent sighs came out as the two moved away again.

 

Archit clutched his sword with slippery hands as he forced his arms up to block. The muscles in them burned, and he trembled when his sword met metal in a loud clash. He was tired, and his legs were sore; he bled from half a dozen places around his shoulders and arms. He was being toyed with, and not the biggest bluff or lie could spare his pride any by knowing it. The dread captain of his daymares struck out again and it was only by sheer force of will that he could bring up to meet it.

 

“Still haven't learn'd your lesson yet, little wiggler, stowin' away on ships not belongin' to ye, comin' back night after night to taste my steel.” The captain grinned at him, striding easily over the heaving deck easier than Archit could have ever done it.

 

Archit could not spare the breath to say anything back; the breath in his lungs rattled wetly and fast, and his head pounded fiercely. He could no longer rest in his sleep, brought back here most days out of the week to face his death over and over again. He knew now the face of the dread captain, just as he knew who it was that showed up in front of him with the same symbol as his own. He supposed when he was older, he would fill out his coat like his ancestor did across the shoulders, and perhaps he might trade in his sword for one wider, more balanced in his hands.

 

And if they werent white, he was sure they would share the same reddened eyes.

 

There was no mercy at the hands of his ancestor, and already Archit felt his will suffering. He was past frustration, past anger and rage and wrath. He was tired, and he hurt, and deep down he was afraid. What was the use in fighting a dream that he couldn't control? The captain would just wear him down like he always did, laughing at him, taunting him and eventually running him through or ripping into him with claws or whatever punishment he felt like doing.

 

Still Archit gritted his teeth and braced himself again, his pride the only thing keeping him upright. He had not yet bowed to his blood elder, and everything in him rebelled at the idea. He was still royalty, he was a seadweller and the master of his own ship, and no matter how he awakened from his daymares he wouldn't go out cowering like a beaten barkbeast.

 

Another slash drove him to his knees but he resisted as best as he could, not willing to give another inch. It was done he knew, the captain would finish him off and send him screaming from this daymare into either his mate or his 'rail's arms and he would spend the next hours until twilight forcing his eyes to stay wide open and awake. The captain cackled loudly, his purple stained lips spreading wide over bare fangs as he swung his arm back for the killing stroke.

 

A soft touch landed on Archit's shoulder from behind and he gasped, jerking up and swinging his sword to meet the captain's weapon. This time though, he was not forced down. There was someone behind him, and as he watched the captain's dead eyes widened and his mood soured; his grin turned into a snarl.

 

“ _You._ ”

 

“Do you truly remember me Harken?” A voice spoke softly from behind him but Archit could not turn around and see who it was. But he knew the voice, familiar and gentle to him. But it felt dim, like a half forgotten dream he had woken up too early from. The roiling deck and stormy clouds faded away, until they were standing in a place he didn't know, and wouldn't remember when he woke up. The touch on his shoulder became a caress, and it was easier somehow, to bear the weight of the captain's sword still pushing against his own.

 

The voice, strange and familiar filled Archit's ears again. “Do you remember what we were?”

 

The captain chuckled low and dark, and the sound of it set a chill inside Archit's stomach. He could feel the madness underneath it. The captain was angry, and when he was angry, terrible things happened. Terrible things that the voice might not be able to save him from.

 

“Aye, I remember ye, self servin' wench crawlin' pon the shore after me ship. Oh aye, I remember ye.” He withdrew the sword, holding it loosely in his hand. The purple on it dripped, slipping down to vanish somewhere in the background. The captain growled. “Seekin' to put lies in me head, to turn me from me treasures; ye never did learn t'quit. Begone with ye, whore, lest ye want a taste of me sword to your throat!”

 

The woman didn't sound fazed, instead only disappointed. “Sweet Harken, I remember you. Stop this foolishness, leave your blood alone. We are beyond this, beyond meddling with that which is no longer ours.”

 

“Shut ye vile trap, woman, and begone! I'll not tell ye again!!” The captain roared at the both of them, but he shifted his feet slowly, his hands clenching. Archit had never seen him go so long without attacking something he was mad at. Was he...afraid of the woman behind him?

 

“I'll not have you harm the child, Harken.” The voice became firm, and something in it caused Archit to tremble in fear. He felt very small, and he hated the feeling, and what was worse was he knew he was outclassed by the both of them. No troll alive that he knew would be able to stand against either of them, and it burned him to be able to do nothing but stand there. He wished he would just wake up already.

 

“Leave the little one alone, and I'll not bother you again. Continue traveling your twisted memory, but today this ends, Harken. If you try and drag him to your ship again I will intervene, and for your own sake, I will not be gentle.” The touch on his shoulder became two, and Archit was guided back, away from the mad captain and his dead eyes.

 

The mad troll snapped, and his voice boomed out in a furious rage. “No one commands me, ye schemin' bitch, and _I will have what's MINE_!!”

 

He slashed at the both of them with his sword but a light blinded Archit, and he fell into darkness as the dream shattered.

 

Archit drew in breath to scream but there was a softness under his head, and gentle fingers were suddenly stroking through his hair as he lay on someone's lap. He had been here before, he realized slowly. Lying here in his dreams, he felt safe, and his weary body relaxed. Archit began to slip into a dreamless black, and as he did so, he heard the same comforting voice from before, when he had heard it in other dreams.

 

“Shhh, young prince, there is nothing to fear. No matter if you believe or not...I will be here to protect you.”


End file.
